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Insomniac
December 13, 2011
eyes tuck into their crescent havens,sleeping deep beneath your skin and shaping their queer-angled
contours to fit the well-lit bridge of your nose
outside you are awake, the sky rinses and repeats, a pink and black insomniac--a sweet taste dancing on your fingertips
a forgotten consciousness tilts the curtains at an angle, the end of a dream that terrifies me but I cannot remember what tore my mind apart
the subtle differences in the temperatures of skin , transferring heat and letting go
the creaks a quivers of my mind, laying limp and vulnerable, a silk cloth spills and color-twisted marbles roll into the black corners of the room
we will find them in the morning.
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